4 Other Places Where David Brooks’ Friend Got Uncomfortable
As many of you may know, I recently delivered my dear uneducated friend Henrietta to a local gourmet sandwich shop. All I wanted was to feed her mouth, a mouth that has never pronounced the words “cassoulet”, “éclair”, or even “amour fou”. Unfortunately, as soon as I steered that poor soul into what I quite frankly consider to barely classify as a sub-par deli, Henrietta proceeded to have a quaint panic attack. But this is not the first time I’ve found her to be overwhelmed by the activities I kindly propose. I can think back to several instances where she was rendered quasi-catatonic by informal social barriers.
Our Yachting Trip
Henrietta clung to the pier so fiercely I was left with no choice but to soak the area surrounding her clasp with cold pressed coconut oil. After letting the oil sit for a minute I was able to patiently pry her worn working-class fingers away.
Golfing last Sunday
I truly thought Henrietta would appreciate golfing, it being an outdoor activity where one so rarely encounters Vanity Fair journalists. So imagine my surprise when I turned around to find her hacking away at the carefully manicured lawn with her 9 iron. I was sad to see her try to dig a ditch in which to hide, but commended her on choosing the right club for the job.
On Elon Musk’s Private Jet
Elon, being an old friend, had no issue with me bringing another friend on board as I flew out to make an appearance at the Tesla Model 2 debut in a Dubai showroom back in 2012. I believed to be doing Henrietta a favor, knowing for a fact that she rides in cars and is also quite fond of electricity. I can’t count the evenings we’ve spent hours on end flicking light switches on and off, clapping and giggling breathlessly.
But on the occasion of our trip, the plane hadn’t even taken off and Henrietta was nowhere to be found. It took us dozens of minutes to find her. She had burrowed into a meal cart and I strongly suspect she was watching “Best of The Big Bang Theory” YouTube clips on her phone.
The 2015 Kentucky Derby
All I tried to do was introduce her to the owners of American Pharoah, the winning steed. I figured they could relate to each other since the couple so shamelessly flaunts their nasty habit of dropping their g’s. But no. Henrietta groaned as soon as I made all proper introductions (“Emily and Keith Sloane, owners of American Pharoah, please meet Henrietta, owner of a GED”). I thought I saw her blow bubbles into her drink and was concerned she was seconds away from dunking her whole head into the Mint Julep bowl. I immediately got her out of there and took her to an underground cock fight in Chinatown. A stranger looking at her might not have known it, might have even thought she was judging me as I placed my bet, but being a Henrietta-connoisseur I could tell she was finally at ease among her equals.
If you enjoyed this, mayyybe followww mmme?